


The Man Who Walks In Hope

by IsraelHandsDown



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Companions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsraelHandsDown/pseuds/IsraelHandsDown
Summary: Trapped on an icy planet where no light can survive, The Drifter and his Ghost make a terrible decision in order to survive.A companion piece to "In Turn."
Kudos: 16





	The Man Who Walks In Hope

Chim-Ung sat upon the workbench, watching his Chosen frantically dig through a box of tools. He was placing things down on a line up, each object more sinister than the next, and the little Ghost couldn’t help the slight shudder it felt at the sight.

This had to be done. This was the only way they were going to survive. Despite his light, he himself was useless. Something was seriously wrong. The light in his Chosen had gone out, the fire inside of him had died, quite literally, and if they didn’t get off this planet soon...

His Chosen would die, and never come back.

Chim-Ung had a secret. A terrible secret. Deep down inside, he felt that maybe it would be for the best that his Chosen return to the grave. He meant no malice in the thought, but more a feeling of pity towards the man. For centuries Chim-Ung had held onto the hope that the man would come around. That he just needed time to take up the mantle of The Traveler. His re-birthright. He had been chosen after all, destined for greatness. But all this nameless man did was run-away from every responsibility that arose. Childish, so very childish and selfish.

He looked away, and to the dismantled parts of his fellow Ghosts that lay beside him. The whole situation was so morbid, but it was what it was. This was survival in its most primitive form. Desperation and fear driving them forward.

His eye darted back to the Risen when the man flung several items out of the tool chest, sailing across the room to crash into the wall with an echoing clatter.

“Fuuuuuuuck!!” He screamed, his voice cracking, and he proceeded to punch the chest with such force, he dented the steel; nearly folding it in half.

He spun to look at his Ghost, eyes bloodshot within his sickeningly pale face. His body shaking from the cold and the rage. He no longer had his fire to keep him warm.

“I don’t have the right tool! I don’t know where the fuck it is!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chim-Ung stayed calm, “You can do it with what you have here.”

The man slammed his hands onto the workbench, hunched over and breathing hard. Steam escaping his blue lips and reminding the Ghost that his Chosen was going to freeze to death. He had to do this now!  
  
“Just get the tak-saw ready, you can break the shell with that. It’ll work, trust.” Chim-Ung mimicked his own Chosen’s little catchphrase, and he watched as the man started to calm down. Eyes staring at his shaking hands, a pregnant silence in the room.  
  
“What if this doesn’t work?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“If you modify my light to replicate the energy effect of that monolith...then it should work.” The Ghost tried to reassure him, “It’ll contain those creatures, we can escape. We can go home.”

That earned a derisive scoff from the man.

“Home? Where the hell is home?”

The little Ghost had no answer to that. He had said _home_ without thinking. If they succeeded, and they were to leave, where would they go? They had spent so long drifting, but truthfully—where else would they go?

He watched his Chosen in silence, studying him for the first time in a long time. He looked so small and weak, no longer the Guardian of the Pilgrim Guard nor the Dredgen. No. Neither of those. Instead, Chim-Ung was reminded of a time, when he brought a helpless child out of the ground. Hungry and scared, crying himself to sleep every night, dying over and over again.

Truth? The absolute truth? Chim-Ung’s heart broke every single time.

“Look at me.” The Ghost prompted, and the man did as he was told, “You can do this.”

He spoke with a firm confidence, reassuring his Chosen that he had faith and trust in his skills. He knew that if anyone could do this, it would be the man before him. He had a beautiful mind, such a brilliant intelligence, and the Ghost thought back to a time when he had been too quick to judge.

His Chosen hadn’t been the towering force of physical strength that the other Risen had been. His fellow Ghosts had been given men and women of great countenance, but his...he was so _average_. But what he lacked in physical prowess, he made up for in genius, and when he set his mind to something—he could accomplish the most astounding things!

He fought with a great ferocity, and had mastered skills in magic that were terrifying. He was stubborn, but earnest. Rude, yet kind. He could be vicious, but so gentle. He was a liar, but he told the most fantastic tales. A man who could snatch the moon right out of the sky, trap stardust in a bottle, and make you believe in dragons. He could make the mountains speak, and turn the shadows into fairy tales.

There had been times when the Ghost had just wanted to send a blast of light straight through this cantankerous man’s head. He could be so infuriating, so obnoxious! But thinking back to everything during the centuries that had passed—Chim-Ung was not disappointed. Not at all. In fact, he was grateful to the Traveler for giving him this drifter to look after.

Still...still...he wished _she_ was here with them. If Orin had stayed, none of this would’ve happened. That beautiful woman made of light, she had stolen his Chosen away from him, but it had been the best thing he ever could’ve asked for. The best thing that ever could’ve been. Oh, how he missed her terribly....

“Get the tak-saw, we need to do this _now_.” Chim-Ung ended his reverie, and watched his Chosen take a shuddering breath before reaching out and fiddling with the tool he had suggested.

“Listen carefully,” the Ghost continued, “You’re going to cut into me at an angle. There’s going to be a large margin for error, so start at the top corner of the shell. Once you have the incision, pop the front off me.”

He watched the man nod as he tweaked the small tool in his hand, turning it on for a quick test. The shrill noise split the air, and Chim-Ung flinched once more. This was going to change him forever, he knew it would, but still....he looked at the man shivering before him, so broken, so scared, so alone. He had to save him. It was his duty—it was what he _wanted_ to do.

The man approached, taking his little shell in hand and laying him flat upon the workbench. He flipped on the work-lamp, and pulled his googles down to cover his eyes. The little Ghost could see its own blue iris reflected in the tinted lenses, and it braced itself. Being brave. Being calm.

He noticed his Chosen’s hand twitching as he held the tool above him.

“Hey, I need you to keep your hand steady.” He warned.

At his words, the Chosen lowered his hand, and bowed his head; taking a moment to steady himself for what he was about to do. The little Ghost looked on, unsure of what to say, merely waiting for the inevitable, and yet...there was something else going on in the moment.

Finally, the man looked back to him, lips trembling, but now—Chim-Ung couldn’t tell if was from the cold or something else.

“Are you sure about this?” The man’s voice cracked and trembled, and the Ghost was taken aback.

This was different. His Chosen had never asked about his well-being before. Had never cared for his opinion.

“Just make sure it works.” He responded, and steeled himself for the inevitable.

There was a pause, and the tak-saw flicked to life with a squeal. Slowly, gently, his Chosen’s hand guided the tool to his shell, and then the pain began. Sparks flew as it cut into him and he tried so hard not to move. It was pure agony.

He had to survive, he had to be sure the man did it right, because if he didn’t he would be lost and his Chosen would die. He had to be still. So very still. But the thought wouldn’t leave him, that if they failed at this, they would part ways and everything would be over.

He needed to tell the man—he _HAD_ to tell him!

“Hey!” His voice shouted over the shrieking tool, “There’s always hope! There’s always hope, Wu Ming...Eli...Germaine...Drifter...Idiot! Don’t ever forget that! It’s going to be okay! _You’re_ going to be okay! After all these centuries, for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you! I’m so, so proud of you!”

Then from above, he felt something wet strike the glass that covered his eye. A tear. Then another, and another, and from beneath the goggles he could see them flow down The Drifter’s face.

The pain grew stronger, and Chim-Ung’s vision began to flicker, he was losing sight. But before it faded entirely, he watched The Drifter rip the goggles from his face and toss them aside, the tears causing too much distortion against the lenses, and when their eyes met, the Ghost could see that stubborn, beautiful child he had brought back into the world all those years ago.

Then everything went black.

No sight. No sound.

******

Hours later, when the job was done, the little Ghost still did not move. His eye had gone dark, but The Drifter knew he was still alive. It had worked, but whether or not his Ghost would be the same was still to be determined.

He held its little body in his hands, examining its new shell. Kit-bashed from five other Ghosts; it was a freak of its own nature now.

“Hey?” He whispered, “You there? Wake-up.”

Nothing.

He stared down at the drone...his companion, his confidant. All these centuries at his side, and yet...never welcomed. Silence and the cold surrounding him was biting, and in that moment, The Drifter had never felt so alone.

_Alone._

His hands began to tremble and his entire body shook, but it wasn’t from the cold. He collapsed onto the floor, bringing the Ghost to his chest— his Ghost, his little Chim-Ung— he clutched him tightly and began to cry. In this moment, at the end of everything, he couldn’t hold back, and he sobbed and screamed like a beaten down animal.

What more could he do?

He screamed, and screamed, and screamed until his voice broke. All the pain and the sorrow...and the guilt. It was a tsunami. Washing away any semblance of sanity he had left.

His fingers gripping his Ghost like a vice, trying so hard to hold onto the only thing—the only _one_ he had left in the entire universe.

Then he screamed some more, until fatigue like he had never known had enveloped him. He remained on the floor, curled around his Ghost as he stared out into the purest black from the massive window in the hanger. A planet where no light could dwell. A cold and unforgiving place. Maybe he deserved to die here.

He was a bad person. He had done so many bad things. In his desperation to not be like the Warlords, he had become just as cruel and heartless as them. He regretted so much, had so many things he could never repair. So many promises he had broken. Everyone had gone from his life, becoming memories; both good and bad. He thought of the people he had betrayed...

He had let Huong down. He couldn’t save Yu or Judson. He should’ve done more for Kendra. He should’ve taken better care of Cole. He should’ve killed Rience when he had the chance. He should never have listened to Yor. He never should’ve lied to Orin.

_Orin._

Blue skin and tiger eyes. His wife...his beautiful wife... _  
  
_He clenched his eyes shut as a sob wracked his form. Sniffling. Pathetic.

Bright as the sun and burning with life, she had given him purpose. Given him a reason to live. And now she was gone.  
  
“Oh Orin...” He sobbed, choking on his own sorrow, “I’m sorry! I’m so—so sorry!”

The universe would be a better place without him. Of that, he was certain. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he would just fade away. Slip into sleep and then into death. One he would not return from. Yeah...that sounded alright.

But then he felt it. That sensation again—the one that had plagued he and his crew since they became stranded on this forsaken world—the feeling of being watched. Something was watching him through the glass, and so he kept perfectly still.

Heart hammering in his ribs, he shallowed his breathing. Trying to remain as passive as possible. If it was one of those things prowling around, it could easily break through, and he didn’t have the energy, the strength, nor the power to fight it off. It would devour him, and there was no coming back.

_Let it happen. Let it end now._

But strangely, the longer he stared out the glass, the more he realized that whatever was watching him didn’t feel threatening. Not a predator. No...something else was there. Something felt lighter, calmer, and...sad. There was a terrible sadness that hung about the window, he could feel it, and his heart was heavy.

“If you’re here for me,” his voice croaked out, “Then just do whatcha came here to do already. Kill me, eat me, whatever. Just do it.”

He made the challenge. He knew he’d lose, but he didn’t care, nothing mattered anymore. That’s what he told himself—but he knew deep inside, that he couldn’t die, because if he did, all of this...was for nothing.

_My Ghost...my crew...my wife..._

No answer from the window. Nothing moved, nothing happened, and he was relieved, because he had to live. If not for himself, then for the only two who had ever mattered. He closed his eyes and pulled his legs in a little tighter, his Ghost still nestled against his chest.

And then, he heard it—

**_Before you go—_ **

His eyes shot open, his blood running as cold as the rest of him. He heard voices! Voices speaking all around!

**_Before you go—_ **

He stared, unblinking into the dark.

**_Before you go—would you..._ **

Perhaps he heard his own among the cacophony. A woman’s as well...familiar. Memories of a different time, of a different life beginning to rise. Of a time when he had been truly happy, when he had been a man who knew love in its purist form. When he had a purpose...when he fought for others. For what was right. He thought he had no more tears to shed, but he felt them form again. Silent this time as they fell upon his face. Not of sorrow...but of hope.

_This isn’t where it ends._

Everything felt alright now.

******

Light. He could feel his own light flickering, and then whiteness engulfed his vision.

Chim-Ung awoke. His little body feeling weak, and his sight tinted in a deeper spectrum. Sure enough, things had changed. He felt different...heavier, and there was an ache deep inside of him. His light, it wasn’t the same. It felt...corrupted. But it had worked! He could feel it! And despite the pain and the grief, Chim-Ung was relieved that they had succeeded. They would survive! They could escape now! He took a moment to process his surroundings, and realized he lay in the hands of his Chosen, resting in his lap.

The Drifter sat upright upon the floor, his back pressed into the workbench, and Chim-Ung turned his gaze up at the man, pausing at the sight of his eyes. The Drifter’s eyes...they were heavy with grief, and there was a defeat that hung about him. He looked older...more worn...

They had been in the dark too long. It was eating away at him! They had to act quickly, no time to waste.

But when The Drifter’s eyes fell to his own, the little light froze. Catching sight of something in his Chosen, something he had never seen before— relief. Relief that Chim-Ung was awake, that he was okay, and slowly, a gentle smile spread upon the man’s face. A silent affirmation.

Something inside Chim-Ung burned just a little brighter.

Trying to shake more clarity into himself, he quickly calculated how best they should test out the modifications to confirm that everything was adjusted correctly, but when he went to speak—he found that he couldn’t.  
  
A sinking feeling...a building fear...

He couldn’t speak!  
  
He tried again—nothing. And again—nothing!  
  
His eye fixed upon The Drifter’s, whose smile slowly fell as he realized what was happening.

It was no use...his voice was gone. They watched each other. Silence between them. It hurt. It truly did. But...that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered, what truly was of consequence, was that they were still together. They were alive—broken, yes. Poorly stitched back together, yes. But alive. They would find a way. A way to communicate, and they would face whatever was to come just as they always had.

He watched as the smile slowly returned to his Chosen’s face. Small, and filled with melancholy, but there was something hopeful within it.  
  
 _My man who walks in hope_.

Yeah. Everything would turn out alright in the end.

And then The Drifter whispered, “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> In canon lore, The Drifter's Ghost's last words were indeed: "I'm proud of you. I'm so...so proud of you."
> 
> In the Season Of The Drifter, when you play through the Invitation of The Nine campaign, there is a vision you can receive that reveals Orin (as The Emissary) was present on the planet when The Drifter killed his crew and modified his Ghost. She watches from a cliff as his crew fly into a psychotic rage and begin to kill one another. The Drifter puts an end to the violence by gunning them all down. The Nine then question his motives, and Orin tries to explain that "Eli is afraid of everything, and that he hates violence." 
> 
> She's always been watching him.
> 
> "Before you go, would you--" is in reference to The Drifter's question to Orin when they first met: "Before you go, would you like to dance with me?" It was the moment where everything changed for the two of them, and their destinies became entwined. So, canonically, it's the single most important moment in The Drifter's character journey.


End file.
